The Care and Keeping of Your Flame Sorcerer

Cita awoke in a dark room. He sat up, whipping his head back and forth to peer around the room. His head throbbed and his vision strobed, advising that the injudicious movements were a poor choice. An unfamiliar nightshirt covered his chest. His breath quickened.

'Where am I? Whose clothing is this?' He stared at his blanket-encased lap. 'Okay — just breathe. It's probably just another flashback. Wasn't I telling Bilal about the city? Then what?'

Bilal's head popped into the room. "Are you awake? Breakfast is waiting. You fell asleep last night before dinner." He hesitated and entered the room. "I meant to ask last night — did your bow need any special care? It was soaked yesterday."

"Uh ..." Cita blinked. 'Soaked?'

He cleared his throat and said, "I'll need my cleaning kit — I think it's in my bag? Anyway, I'll check it over, but it should be fine. The arrows will need checked, too … if they … got wet?" He rubbed his head.

Cita climbed out of the soft blankets. Dizziness clouded his vision, and he braced his calves against the bedframe.

"Have you seen my clothes?"

"Unhcegila insisted on washing them this morning, and is ironing them now to hasten the drying."

"Unhcegila?" Cita looked down at the nightshirt, avoiding the piercing golden gaze. He shrugged. "Which way to breakfast?"

Bilal grinned and led the way from the room. Together, they navigated steep wooden stairs down to a cheerful kitchen.

Unease fluttered in Cita's stomach. His steps grew slower as they approached the room.

"Ah. You're awake. I was beginning to worry." A dark-haired young woman looked up from a tall table where she worked with an iron. She flipped her long braid over her shoulder. "Are you ready for breakfast? I have porridge ready, and can make some fresh toast."

Cita's stomach rumbled.

"Yes, please," he acquiesced, dismissing his disquiet.

He found himself seated on the far side of the tall table. The woman went back to ironing.

Bilal nursed a mug. Cita shuddered at the sight and focused on his porridge.

'What do I call this lady? She must have already introduced herself to everyone. She'll think I'm weird if I ask again.'

"The storm should clear off after midday," the woman said. "Are you planning to leave then, or would you like to stay another night to start fresh in the morning?"

'Storm? Oh … I do hear rain. Is that how my bow got soaked? Did she take us in? She seems kinda young to own a house this big, though. She's maybe a couple of years older than me?' Cita looked to Bilal for guidance.

"I think it best that we press on, Unhcegila. We were tracking a swarm of the Infected when the storm arose. They were going straight east, so we may be able to find them even with the trail gone."

Cita latched on to the name like a life-preserver in a swirling sea of uncertainty. 'But … didn't Gran tell stories about an Unhcegila?'

Cita ground his palm into his eye socket as his head throbbed with renewed vigor.

"A swarm? Headed east?" Unhcegila frowned. "J-Blue Jay will need to speak with you before you leave." She rolled her eyes as she corrected the name.

'What is going on here? Where are we?'

*You don't even know where you're at,* the shadow gloated.

**It doesn't matter. Just don't let on you don't know,** a snarky voice counseled. The youth stepped forward and shoved loose hair out of his face. His dusky skin was ashen.

"What happened to you?" Cita asked.

Three heads turned toward him.

The youth groaned.

Bilal raised a brow in polite inquiry.

Cita shook his head and Unhcegila continued.

"I'll have your clothes dried by then. Also, I have some things for you, so you're better prepared for the local weather. We've an old tent that's still sound, among other things."

"We can't take that!" Cita protested with a full mouth. 'No way is she just giving us stuff! There's always a price!' He swallowed hastily and opened his mouth to continue.

*You've always paid the price before. What's to stop you now?* Cold shadows tickled Cita's back. *She's pretty enough, isn't she? And—*

A flash of blue clouded Cita's eyes and his ears rang. His head pounded. 'What was I going to say?'

"Psh. It's nothing that's needed here. And I've a copy-book of the family lore you'll take with you, as well."

"A copy-book?" Cita asked. 'Family lore? Why would I need their family lore?'

"All the stories and knowledge that the family has gleaned, mostly about flame magic," Unhcegila proudly answered. "It's all been written down since we left Great Gran's village, Southwallow. As children, we each copy the book. If something new gets added, we each copy the new parts."

She wrinkled her nose. "Even as adults, our elders may make us copy it again as a punishment. You'll take a spare copy. And if you learn anything new, you need to tell us."

'Flame … magic? Like flame summoners? Holy shit! Is this a family of flame summoners?' Cita surreptitiously eyed Bilal. He didn't seem surprised by this information.

**Play it cool, or he'll know you blacked out again,** the youth advised, sagging against the table.

"So it's just a book? The Care and Keeping of Your Flame Summoner?" Cita waved his spoon, dripping bits of porridge. He wiped it with the sleeve of his nightshirt.

Golden eyes watched without watching.

Unhcegila pulled back with an uneasy look. "Flame sorcerer. Not summoner."

"Your elders?" Bilal pressed.

'Maybe I can ask later what the difference is?' Cita returned to his breakfast.

*There is no difference.* Laughter rang out and the shadow whirled around Cita. *Not for you.*

Cita ignored it.

"They left for the Freehold to trade. They'll be sorry to have missed the excitement." Unhcegila grinned and continued to iron.

A door opened to a dark, wet morning. Rashida came in, cloak dripping. She hung it by the door and moved to warm herself by the fire. The tap-tap of her staff echoed in the suddenly silent room.

"My horse is not best pleased with her treatment yesterday," she told Bilal as she passed.

"She was rubbed dry, brushed, and blanketed in a warm, dry stable. I took her a bran mash after we had supper. What call has she to be displeased?" he countered.

Cita jerked at his tone.

"Aspen is not accustomed to having people tossed on her back or being dragged through a storm." Rashida snorted. "And the herbs in my packs were crushed."

"It seems more likely that you are displeased, Healer," Bilal growled.

Cita pulled away. 'I thought he wasn't mad at her anymore?'

**I dunno.** The youth looked up, wide-eyed. **He sounds pissed!**

"Perhaps I am. This is not what I planned when I agreed to accompany you on this journey." Rashida stood proud, facing Bilal with her back to the fire.

"I think it is time to have a serious discussion about what you think you agreed to when you invited yourself on this trip." Bilal met her stare with lowered brows.

"I agree," Unhcegila interjected. "I am quite put out myself over last night's." She hesitated.

Cita watched her. 'What, exactly, happened last night? 'Red edged his vision. The youth drew back, shaking.

She finally continued, throwing up her hands in frustration. "Those herbs you insisted the boy needed were too much! He couldn't be roused till past midmorning!"

"What?" Bilal snarled. "You said you gave Cita chamomile and lavender!"

"Herbs? You drugged me? Again? And I'm not a boy!" Seeing little through the red curtain, Cita stood. Flames flicked up his legs.

Rashida folded her arms.

"Again?" Unhcegila glared at Rashida.

"It's nothing you need to worry about," Rashida dismissed them all. "He needed to rest, and my herbs assisted."

Unhcegila opened her mouth, but Bilal spoke first.

"Jas povtorno nema da uspeam!"

'I will not fail again.'

Bilal's nostrils flared and his shoulders heaved. "He may have needed to rest, but it was not your decision to make!"

"Vašite tajni ḱe bidat vaš neuspeh!" Venom laced Rashida's voice.

'Your secrets will be your failure.'

A twinge of gratitude infiltrated Cita's fury. The echo kept no secrets.

"I suppose it's your decision, oh mighty warrior?" Rashida sneered. "On the grounds that you have known him for a few days longer than I?"

*I told you he lies.* The shadow fought through the rising flames.

'Whatever!' Cita shook his head and spoke up for himself.

"No! It's my decision! I don't need drugs. I p-p-promised! You don't get to make decisions for me! Either of you!"

He whirled to storm out. Bilal grabbed his arm, pulling him back.

"Don't touch me!" Red flames flicked along Cita's forearm.

Bilal dropped his arm but moved to block his path.

"Please. Stay. We need to discuss this, once and for all." He folded his arms and mantled his lone wing.

Rashida and Unhcegila stared at Cita's arm warily.

Cita's anger pushed for release.

**But he's right,** the youth added. **You can't keep on like this. Unless you want another James?**

Cita blanched. The licks of fire died.

'James? Who's …?'

He clenched his hands over his ears as if that would stop the images oozing like puss from a ruptured wound. A brown-haired teen with a bow. An electric blue drink. A low brick building. Soothing blue swept over him, blanketing everything.

Golden eyes tracked him as he returned to his stool.

"All right. We need ground rules. Or we'll kill each other," Cita muttered. Slowly the blue faded, leaving the kitchen washed in the flickering light from the hearth-fire.

**A little death never hurt anyone,** the youth grinned.

Cita turned wide eyes on him. Ashy and unkempt as he was, his eyes and bared teeth took on a demonic cast in the firelight.

Bilal sighed, shaking his head.

Rashida opened her mouth and the fire flared.

"Not a word," Unhcegila hissed. "You'll have your turn, but it is not now."

Cita looked at the fire with interest, distracted from the argument. 'Can I do that?'

"Not inside, Cita," Unhcegila added as if reading his mind. "Perhaps outside the stockade, after the rain eases."

He grinned, anger forgotten.

"Ground rules," Bilal drawled, tasting the words.

Wandering back to his stool, Cita poked at his congealed porridge.

The youth sneered at it and slumped against the table again.

Cita pushed the porridge aside.

"I don't know what you're expecting," Rashida sniffed. "I'm a healer and, as such, hold authority when it comes to the care of the injured or ill."

"So who gets to decide who is 'injured or ill'?" Cita asked bitterly. "Isn't that another way of saying you get to drug anyone you want, whenever you want?" His breath shortened and the first hint of red haze rode the edges of his vision. "Do you know what it's like, to wake up and not know what happened? Or to wake up and remember what happened, and remember not being able to do anything about it?"

Whump.

Cita blinked as the damp shirt dropped from his face to his lap. Bright red-orange eyes met Bilal's golden gaze. Cita scratched the side of his face, looking away.

Unhcegila avoided eye contact as she collected the laundry and set it aside.

Rashida's lips curled. "The Lady Staryu guides me. Of course I am the best choice to decide who needs my assistance!"

The air left the room again and Cita's nails bit into his palms. He choked on forgotten memories and ash.

**That's not how you do it,** the youth said. His eyes glittered.

The cold shadow laughed.

"Like you can do any better," Cita gasped. He glared and tried to draw a full breath.

Rashida frowned at Cita. "Of course I can do better!"

Bilal spoke over her, "This is not Cairo and we are not your selam!"

The youth shoved off the table and took three quick steps to Cita. His hand rose to caress Cita's cheek; it didn't stop at his skin.

Cita recoiled, tipping backward off the stool as the youth sank into his flesh. Blue suffused the room.

"Cita!" Bilal cried. He reached out to break Cita's fall.

Cita felt his lips twist in a snarl. He wrenched clear of the hand, rolling across the hard floor. He popped back to his feet.

"Don't touch me."

Cita knew his mouth moved, releasing that silky voice. He tried to stop it, clamping his lips shut. They opened anyway as a hand rose of its own accord, tossing a ball of blue flame.

"Howsabout if you slip me another mickey, I light up your life." His lips twisted into a smile. "We'll give a whole new meaning to sick burn."

Red-orange eyes burned into Rashida's. She paled.

"That's you," Unhcegila whispered. She shook her head. "That's you, but that's not you."

Red-orange eyes turned on her.

She stepped back. A small puddle in the shape of her shoe graced the smooth wood floor. She made a grabbing gesture at the hearth-fire and yanked the flames to her, swirling them into a bright red shield.

"Cita!" Bilal shouted again.

"This is what I mean," Rashida stepped forward. "He has no self-control!" She snapped her staff through the air, striking Cita's left ankle.

Cita's hand flung the fireball at her as his ankle gave out, dropping him to the floor.

A bright red shield intercepted it. Both shattered in a shower of sparks.

Chocolate eyes met red-orange defiantly. "No. You won't do that here." Unhcegila drew a fresh stream of fire from the hearth and reformed her shield, larger and thicker than before.

Cita felt a growl rumble in his throat. He lurched to his feet, careless of his re-injured ankle. Two more fireballs sprang to life in his open hands.

"I'm sick and tired of everyone telling me what to do!" Cita's voice was his own for a moment before dipping back into an unrestrained laugh. He fought against the drowning blue, but it wrapped him in a tight embrace.

"Don't worry. I've got your back," his mouth said.

His hands rose again, flinging cobalt flames across the kitchen.

Unhcegila intercepted one, swallowing it in her shield.

The other veered clear. It skewed sideways toward wide golden eyes.